With these shreds They vented their complainings, which being answered And a petition granted them, a strange one, To break the heart of generosity, And make bold power look pale, they threw their caps As they would hang them on the horns o' th' moon, Shouting their emulation.

There is no such sport as sport by sport o'erthrown.

Take pains. Be perfect.

Pain pays the income of each precious thing.

Your praises will become your wages.

Wisely, I say, I am a bachelor.

Like one who draws the model of a house beyond his power to build it who, half through, gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost a naked subject to the weeping clouds.